


Sometimes the Sickness is the Cure

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal, Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Fluff, Innocent Harry, M/M, Older Louis, Rich Harry, Rimming, Top Harry, Top Louis, Underage - Freeform, Underage Harry, a lot of sexy stuff basically, anne and robin are total shit, but it isnt supposed to be a canonical depiction of them ok, butler louis, harry is 17, harrys rich af, is that even a thing?, louis has a huge thing for cherry infused vodka, louis is 29, louis likes being called daddy and harry likes to please him, nick's appearence is very brief do not fret, underage kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Louis, from his position in the grand hallway at the base of the stairs, heard something crash from upstairs. Making his way upwards, he found himself wandering aimlessly, searching for any kind of life. He'd of sworn he hadn't imagined it, but...</em><br/> <br/><em>He's startled by the loud sob that emanates from the door a few steps to his left, and  quickly throws it open. He's surprised by the sight in front of him.</em></p><p>  <em>It's Harry, standing in a pile of broken glass and a pool of red liquid - which stunk of vodka and something else Louis couldn't quite place - which was currently staining the stark white carpet of Harry's bedroom.</em></p><p>  <em>He's not sure quite what to make of it, at first - whether to deal with the bits of shattered glass or the stain or the drunken, crying boy. Whatever the case, he knew he was in for a hell of a talk with Mr. Styles in the morning.</em></p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Louis is the Styles' family's butler, and that's where it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from All Time Low's "Actors", a great song I might add :)
> 
> Chapters with sensitive content will be marked as so, excluding smut, because that's kind of a given ;)

 Louis pulled at his collar as looked around, trying to keep his mind off the fact that this meeting was running twenty minutes past schedule, and the man he was supposed to meet hadn't even arrived yet. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. _9:23._

  
He was pissed. Louis understood being a little late for a job interview; he had, in all honesty, arrived at the classy restaurant a good fifteen minutes late. But almost two and a half hours was absolutely ridiculous. He'd have left ages ago if it weren't for the uncomfortable fact that he _needed this job_.

  
He could clearly see the waitress glaring at him from across the restaurant, impatient. Louis wondered if he was keeping her from going home. He'd have been annoyed, too, if he was in her position; a waitress waiting for some jackass to either order some food or get the hell out at 9:30 at night. Who even ate at this kind of time, anyway?  
He stood, stretching his legs for the first time in hours, and walked over to the fuming waitress. Apologizing quietly, he slipped her a twenty, and then, on second thought, another, and silently left. He took his phone back out and tapped the screen sending Mr. Abernathy, the man he was supposed to meet tonight, the following message as he walked;

  
 _Got late. Couldn't wait any longer._

  
He also attached a link to his resume and list of credentials, which was all they had needed to discuss anyway. Mr. Abernathy doesn't respond by the time he gets home to his shabby little apartment, so he gives up.

  
Louis hadn't eaten, and he was starving. He made his way to his little kitchen area and pawed around his fridge, rubbing his eyes lazily. He was too lazy to make anything too complicated; he decided on toast.

  
Two minutes later Louis has some buttered toast in one hand and a beer in the other as he sits on his couch. He doesn't even bother to turn on the TV; nothing good was on Tuesday nights anyway.

  
Louis was a little disappointed that Abernathy was a no show; he'd really wanted this job. The household owners, the Styles' were absolutely loaded, due to Robin and Anne being the head's of Styles, Inc., the most successful smart electronic corporation since fucking Apple.

  
Louis' phone was from the Styles' company, in fact - a point he had planned on flaunting at the interview.

  
As he's finishing his toast, Louis receives a text from Mr. Abernathy.

  
 _Terribly sorry for missing our interview. Mr. Styles had a pressing issue that needed resolving, but all is well now. He appreciated how passionate you are about working as a household manager._

  
Louis becomes hopeful as he waits for the next message.

  
 _After reviewing your academics and having a conversation with your headmaster at the International Butler Academy, we are delighted to welcome you to the estate as our household manager. Your carpool will arrive at six o clock sharp._

  
Louis literally jumps for joy - and tries to text back a polite but enthusiastic thank you. He's grinning, but he's so tired.

  
After cleaning up, Louis crawls into bed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Louis sets his alarm, before going out like a light.

 

 

~*~

 

Louis wakes up at 5:00 in the morning, far too early for his taste, but - whatever. Rubbing his eyes, he almost trips over a shoe on the floor, and he curses loudly.  
Kicking it out of the way, Louis made his way to his bathroom and turned the shower on. He sets it to cold at first, to both wake him up, and try to get rid of his aching morning wood issue.

  
It's extremely unpleasant, but it works on both fronts - he's wide awake with teeth chattering, and his erection's all but gone. He sets the water back to warm and quickly washes his hair before rinsing and getting out.

  
The room's steamy, and he slips on the tiled floor as he gets out of the shower.

  
" _Fuck_ ," he hisses, rubbing his sore rear. He stands and towel drys himself off, wrapping it around his hips and leaving the bathroom.

  
Louis stops in his tracks when he realizes he doesn't have anything to wear. He'd discussed work attire with Abernathy at their first meeting; classy, but not stiff. He remembered he needed his work outfit, which he did not have.

  
A bit panicked, he texts his concerns to Mr. Abernathy, who responds almost immediately.

  
 _Mr. Styles is aware of your lack of uniform, and has been so kind as to let you arrive in street clothes and to change at the household. Get changed into something tasteful. I am leaving the residence now._

  
Louis checks the time; 5:43. He gets dressed in a button up shirt and black slacks, which he thinks is decent. He quickly brushes his teeth and styles his hair into his current styles - a sort of quiff with a bit of fringe draped on his forehead.

  
By the time he's eaten breakfast, he hear's a car horn honk, and makes his way outside. After he's climbed into the passenger's seat, Mr. Abernathy turns around and starts down the road.

  
"There is one matter we have not yet discussed," he says, without any sort of greeting. "Your living situation."

  
Louis nodded in acknowledgement. "I assume I will be living on grounds?"

  
"It's been arranged for you to live in an in-house apartment. Of course, we will also cover the rent of your current apartment, so long as you continue to be employed here."  
Louis was in shock. "That really isn't necessary, Mr. Abernathy-"

  
"Call me Felix." He smiled. "Louis, Mr. Styles likes you. He's impressed with your experience and your youth. He want's to have you working for him, and he's willing to give you his kindness to quite an extent. I'd take it graciously."

  
Before Louis can get a word in, Felix turns into a long, winding driveway, and he can't help but press his face against the window and gaze at the extraordinary mansion before him.

  
It literally looked like a castle, with stunning stained glass windows and stone exterior. On either side were elaborate gardens, filled with all different kinds of flowers; Louis rolled down his window and took an inhale - it smelled fantastic. Several gardeners tended to the flowers as they car made its way closer, and Louis took everything in with enhanced detail.

  
At the front gates on either side, stood two large cherry trees, the flowers just beginning to bloom. The house itself was at least three stories, standing tall and grand and beautiful. Louis was in absolute awe at how lavishly his employers lived - where _he_ would be living.

  
The driveway was one of the rounded ones; it looped around a fountain. Louis watched as the angel gracefully spit out water while Felix pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Louis looked at him, almost starstruck.

  
"I was expecting something a bit more modern-" Louis admits, because, they were a company that made smart phones, a very futuristic device, "-but this is extraordinary."

  
Felix cracked a smile and left the car without saying a word. Louis followed his lead, and took in the sunlight and the floral smell and everything. This place was wonderful.  
He entered the house after Felix, and felt a bit awkward when they were both greeted by about ten member of staff. Absentmindedly, Louis wondered how many people worked here.

  
"This is Louis Tomlinson, the new household manager," Felix introduced him to the others, and Louis waved, a bit shy.

  
"Welcome to the Styles household," a man in a waiter's uniform told him with a smile, which Louis returned.

  
 _He's cute_ , Louis thought. _Maybe he'd get his number later..._

  
He's brought back to his co-workers when the same man mumbles _good luck_ under his breath. Louis shrugs it off, and follows Felix as he leads him through a door underneath the golden stairway.

  
Handing Louis a uniform, he instructs him, "Change into this, then I'll introduce you to the family." He leaves him, then, and Louis quickly changes.

  
He'd noticed that the staff were all dressed quite classy, but his outfit seemed a bit ridiculous. The trousers and shoes were a given, and Louis knew he'd be expected to at least where a dress coat and tie - but he was wearing a waistcoat, and that seemed a little silly, but he didn't question it, and made his way back in front of the stairs.

  
Felix lead him a few rooms over, briefly giving him a tour of each room they passed; the kitchen, Mr. Styles' study, the family room - until they found themselves in the common room, where three very attractive and well dressed people stood - the residential family.

  
"This is Mr. Styles, the head and co-founder of Styles, Inc., along with his lovely wife, Mrs. Styles."

  
Mr. Styles was an older man, slightly balding, with gray hair and glasses. He had a bit of a beer gut, and was dressed very formally - Louis guessed he was heading to work.  
Mrs. Styles was a beautiful, younger woman with a smooth face and chocolate-colored hair. She was very attractive, and he briefly wondered how Mr. Styles had ever managed to land her, before he remembered the fact that he was loaded.

  
Louis was a little nervous as he shook Mr. and Mrs. Styles' hands. They smiled at him, but he knew it was a formality - very forced. He could tell they did not care at all about meeting him. He smiled back politely.

  
"Mr. Styles, Mrs. Styles, it's very lovely to meet you. Your house is marvelous," Louis told them honestly, then looked to the youngest of the trio.

  
"This is Harry, son of Mr. and Mrs. Styles and heir to the Styles corporation." Louis extended his hand as Felix finished, but Harry just stared at it, until it was back at Louis' side.

  
"My son has requested he be addressed as Master Styles. My wife and myself will be addressed as Mr. Styles and Mrs. Styles. Is this understood, Mr..." Mr. Styles trailed off, but he didn't seem to care whether he knew Louis' name or not.

  
Harry was a very attractive boy, who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, if that. His hair was long and curly and he had to brush it out of his face often, which revealed stunning green eyes and creamy white skin before his hair fell in his face again. He was very attractive, like his mother, with a little baby fat still hanging on to his cheeks. He was sprinkled with freckles, but no other blemishes. Louis found the boys' beauty charming.

  
Louis guessed he was a bit shy and not used to new people, because he wouldn't seem to look Louis in the eyes and kept shuffling his feet around awkwardly.

  
"For today, I'll start you off on helping to prepare breakfast, then serving it - Mr. Abernathy has informed me you can cook. This is true, yes?"

  
Louis nodded in response. He was a decent cook - more than decent, in fact - and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it.

  
"Very well. Afterwards, I'll need you to bring my son shopping. He needs a new suit for the dinner party we're hosting in a few weeks - which you will be planning. The invitations are all sent out, but you'll need to do most everything else. But we'll discuss that later," Mr. Styles informed him, then pulled out his phone.

  
Louis took that as a sign to leave. He bowed slightly and left, making his way back towards the kitchen. He was sure he got lost a few times - the house was so big, he wasn't sure how anyone got around - but he eventually found it, just as a young woman was piling extremely elegant-looking food onto three plates. He smiled a little sheepishly, but she just shrugged.

  
"Sorry I'm late," he apologizes, "I got lost. Big house."

  
She just blinked at him with her head cocked slightly to the side. A little put off by her lack of comment, he _humphed_ quietly and took the three plates, each filled with bell pepper eggs, crisp bacon, and hash browns, and stacked them onto their already laid out sliver platters.

  
Placing the silver domes over the still-steaming food, he's picking one up when the woman tugs on his arm, and points to the silverware, napkins, glasses, and lacy, white place mats laid out across the counter. He almost smacks himself for being an idiot - of course he had to set the table before serving the food. _Dumbass_.

  
He takes the three place mats and walks into the next room over, which was almost entirely taken up by a long table, covered in a deep burgundy tablecloth with little designs stitched into it. He wondered how much it cost as he carefully placed the lacy things in front of three of the many chairs, then returned to the kitchen and did the same with the silverware, glasses, and folded napkins.

  
The woman points to something hanging on the wall next to the door, and finds it to be a microphone system - to call the family to dinner, he guessed. He pressed the intercom button and said, "Breakfast is now being served." Louis felt a little dumb announcing that breakfast was ready to the entire house. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but it felt far too formal for fucking  _breakfast_.

  
It only took a minute or so for the three of them to get seated, so Louis stacks the three platters onto one large silver plate, and carries it into the dining room. He places one in front of each family member then takes the serving plate back into the kitchen, knowing better than to hover. He helps the young woman clean up the kitchen as the family eats.

  
After twenty or so minutes, all three members of the Styles family have left the table. Louis clears the plates and places them in the ridiculously fancy dishwasher, then begins clearing everything else.

  
When everything's cleaned up and taken care of, Louis finds himself at a loss for what to do. Mr. Styles had informed him he had to take his son shopping, but Louis had no idea where Harry's bedroom was.

  
He leaves the kitchen and wanders towards the main entrance room, looking around for Felix, but he rationalizes that he must have taken Mr. and Mrs. Styles to work. Louis wonders briefly why Harry isn't in school right now.

  
 _Rich kid_ , he thinks to himself, _private tutor, probably_.

  
Louis decides to explore a bit; get a feel for the house. He starts with the first floor, wandering through the kitchen and dining room. He finds Mr. Styles' study locked, be he knew better than to go in there, anyway.

  
Louis is happily surprised when he finds a home theater near the back of the first story. It's fairly large, with each chair plush and made of a smooth, soft material. He leaves and finds himself outside, facing an incredibly large pool. Two attendants fish leaves out of it, and Louis marvels at how the water shimmers in the sun.

  
He smiles at the pool cleaners as he passes, and wanders in the general direction of the gardens. Several people are tending to the flowers, watering and weeding and trimming them.

  
Louis makes his way towards the top of a hill near the end of the grounds, where a solitary apple tree stands. As he gets closer, Louis notes that it's in very good shape; the apple blossoms just beginning to bud. He picks a flower that's already bloomed and twirls it carefully in his hands.

  
"Who's there?" a light voice asks from behind Louis, scaring the shit out of him. _Bloody hell,_ he growls in his head, as he turns to find Harry standing there frowning at him, obviously a bit annoyed that Louis had found this little spot.

  
Harry blows a strand of hair out of his face and glides past Louis, sitting underneath the tree.

  
Louis stood at a comfortable distance away, and asked, "Master Styles, are you ready to go shopping?" The words Master Styles felt odd to speak; very formal for addressing a seventeen year old boy.

  
"Yeah, yeah, I guess," he replies, voice soft as he's standing back up. Harry brushes a few strands of grass off his bum and looks to Louis.

  
"Do you have anything in mind?" Louis inquires, walking next to Harry.

  
"I don't know very much about clothes," is his answer, which Louis finds very unhelpful.

  
Louis' phone rings, and he stops to answer it. The Caller ID is Felix's.

  
"Have you left yet?" Felix asks as Louis taps the answer icon.

"No, leaving now-"

  
"Change of plans. Mr. Styles has requested you not leave the house with him. Master Styles can wear a suit he already owns."

  
Louis is a little confused by the urgency in Felix's words, and he questions it. "May I ask why the sudden change of plans?"

  
"I'll explain later. But do not leave the house."

  
He hears static instead of anything else, so he hangs up and looks at Harry, who was kicking at a rock.

  
"We're not going out after all," Louis tells him.

  
"Why not?" Harry looks at him, seeming just as confused by the sudden shift of orders as Louis felt.

  
"I'm not sure. But I'll bet we can find something to do instead." Louis doesn't mean to sound condescending, but he does, which seems to fire Harry up.

  
"I'm not a child," Harry grumbles, kicking at the rock and sending it spiraling. "I can do just fine by myself." And with that, Harry stomps back to the apple tree, leaving a cloud of tension hanging over the two of them.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost two am and I just really wanted to get this up, because I know I wouldn't have time tomorrow. The editing is absolute shit, and there's probably typos galore, but I promise I'll edit when I get the chance. I hope you enjoy the chapter nonetheless.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: homophobic slurs

 

Harry laid down next to the apple tree, yanking grass out of the dirt and basking in the sunlight. He knew the cleaner would have a hell of a time getting the grass stains and dirt out of his clothes, but at the moment, he didn't care.

This little tree was his private little place, the only place on the grounds where the staff weren't asking him if he wanted some gourmet specialty, or a massage from the best masseuse in the country, or some other ridiculous treatment that he, frankly, did not want or need.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the lavish lifestyle he was so fortunate to have - he embraced it most of the time - but sometimes it just got annoying, with everyone smiling at him and offering him anything and everything. He knew it wasn't real.

Perhaps Harry wouldn't have been so bitter if the workers didn't treat him like he was _five_. But that was partly his parents' fault; up until he was fucking fourteen, his mother insisted he be tucked in and read a story before bed. Everyone had become used to him being the helpless, shy, bubble-boy known as Master Styles, who needed everything served to him on a silver platter and to be protected.

It came as no surprise to Harry that he wasn't going shopping with the new butler today, because it wasn't a rare occurrence that his parent's wouldn't allow him to leave. They tried to convince him that _"oh, it's not safe,"_ and _"the paparazzi are out."_ But he knew full well that they didn't want him to get a taste of the world, to grow fond of something that did not belong in his sophisticated existence.

The times he was allowed off the grounds, he was always accompanied by countless bodyguards, which was ridiculous, because he doubted anyone would know who he was if he went alone.

Harry felt his eyes getting kind of droopy, but he couldn't say he minded - it was rather comfy here, with the soft grass cushioning his body, acting like a pillow; the sun giving him the warming feeling of a blanket; it was nice to be out in nature like this. As he felt himself drift, he reveled in the smell of the grass and the air and the apple blossoms, content.

 

 

  
~*~

 

 

 

Louis was informing the kitchen staff of tonight's dinner choice when Felix texts him, requesting to meet in the back gardens for a talk. Louis, a bit worried, bids them goodbye and makes his way through the house, nodding to Mrs. Styles politely as they briefly pass in the grand hallway.

The back gardens were where the fruits and vegetables were grown, out of sight and filled with garden hands. When he sees Felix, he waves Louis over and hands him a basket, then starts picking from a strawberry plant. Louis does the same.

"How has your first day been so far?" Felix asks in a conversational tone, and Louis knows he's not in any sort of trouble.

"Fine," he answers in an equal tone, "a bit busy. I've been getting RSVP calls all day for the dinner party."

"Very well." Louis and Felix move on, working on the lower branches of a sweet cherry tree.

They're both silent for a few minutes, focusing on the work instead - plucking the ripe cherries, checking them for spots, and placing them in the basket. Felix pretended not to see Louis eat a few.

As they moved onto the next tree, Louis started up the conversation again. "In your text you said you wanted to talk?"

"Ah, yes." Felix cleared his throat. "As I'm sure you know, the Styles family is constantly under the scrutiny of the public eye." Louis nodded.

"Then I'm sure you know of the recent, ehm, _criticisms_ the family has faced as of late." He paused, and they both made their way towards the house, baskets full. A young woman takes each basket and brings them into the kitchen, as the Louis and Felix made their way into the flower gardens.

Louis was well aware of the negative light the Styles' - or, rather, Mr. and Mrs. Styles - were neck deep in. In a recent interview, when asked about his views on the recent legalization of gay marriage in the state, went off on a rant, talking about how _"marriage is a man and a woman,"_ and how _"I was disgusted to see two faggy's walking around holding hands. What kind of example is that?"_ and, best of all; _"I wouldn't be caught dead with a faggot employee, whether it be in my home or for my company."_   Mrs. Styles backed up her husbands' statements when asked for comment.

Which, of course, was met with a serious public backlash - sales plummeted, protesters picketed outside the company building for hours on end, business deals were lost. Louis took a sick (well, if you thought about, it wasn't _really_ ) pleasure in the families' misfortune.

Louis, from the start, had no problem with his sexuality; he was confident with who he was, and despite the occasional _fag_ or _all gays rot in hell_   thrown his way, he had no problem openly expressing himself. He liked men, and that was that.

Of course, this was different. As much as it ran against his morals, he needed this job - desperately. Half his wardrobe was falling apart, his meals consisted of TV dinners and ramen, not to mention his unpaid student loans and rent - he had no choice.

Louis hadn't had a date in months; not even a decent fuck - so it didn't seem exactly difficult to keep it in his pants while working for the Styles'.

Louis realized he hadn't said anything for a while, and cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, of course."

Felix shrugged, and they made their way down the driveway. Louis heard it before he saw it. _"Oh."_

There had to be at least two hundred people, if not more, holding up a multitude of LGBTQ support signs, chanting and yelling and causing a hell of a noise. If Louis wasn't in such a compromising position, he imagined himself at the front of the crowd, yelling the loudest, protesting like hell. He barely contained a smile.

As the two of them got closer, Louis caught the eyes of angry couples, who aggressively yelled at the two of them. It broke Louis' heart, and he looked away.

Felix turned them around, and they quickly made their way back up to the house. "Obviously, this is not something to subject young Master Styles too. Our guards are hardly containing the issue as it is. The young boy needn't see this."

Louis nodded, but inside he was burning up. But he hid it well, and stayed silent until Felix brought the conversation back up again.

"Mr. Styles and I have both agreed it is in the best interest of Master Styles that he have no chance of being exposed to any of this nonsense, which, of course, would mean keeping him, and you, confined to the house."

"Me?" Louis asked, incredulous.

"Yes. With this catastrophe going on outside, no one besides Mr. and Mrs. Styles will be able to get in or out of the house, which means none of Master Styles' friends, or girlfriend, or anything of the sort. He'll need something to entertain himself with."

Louis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Well, than I guess it's a damn good thing I'm staying on the grounds, isn't it?"

Felix chuckled as the two of them climbed the stairs to the house. "That reminds me; I'll show you to your quarters. I've taken the liberty of having your things moved there."

Louis thanks him quietly, and Felix takes him down a flight of stairs, and a few moments later they're standing in front of a door marked _L. Tomlinson_. A key is pressed into his hand, and Felix leaves him be. Louis feels a bit of a rush as he puts the key in the lock and opens the door.

It's pretty damn good - a mini kitchenette, with his coffeemaker, silverware, cups, and plates; a queen sized bed, dressed with his sheets, blankets, and pillows; a closet that easily fits his limited selection of clothes; and a bathroom. Louis is surprised at how nice it was. It was better than his apartment.

In the corner was a large box of miscellaneous things, including a picture of his family. He places it on the nightstand and smiles.

 _"Mr. Tomlinson, we will be leaving now."_ Louis about shits himself when Felix's voice floods the room, before he notices the small intercom box hanging on the wall.

 

 

  
~*~

 

 

  
Harry was not pleased to hear that he was being forced to stay in the house, seemingly indefinitely. His anger doubled when he wasn't given any excuse why.

He'd barricaded himself in his room, and he'd been there for a good three hours, ignoring when Gwendolyn knocks on his door. After a minute she starts swearing in Spanish, and he simply puts his ear buds in and blasts the volume as loud as physically possible without giving himself ear damage.

After a while, the music gets boring, and Harry casts his iPod to the side. He lays starfish style on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, before pulling out his laptop and opening up his regular porn site.

Kicking his jeans off and getting his boxers to his knees, he clicks on the thumbnail for some cream-skinned redhead with overly-huge fake tits and an ugly smirk that never seems to go away. Even while stroking himself, Harry can't get hard at the site of her.

Hesitantly, he returns to the homepage and clicks on a thumbnail of a blonde boy being gagged by another man's cock. By the time the video finishes buffering, Harry's sporting a semi.

The clip begins, starting with the blonde boy stroking himself. Harry matches the movements, starting slow and teasing himself. Harry is full-on hard now, and he finds it difficult to keep time with the slow strokes of the blonde boy, who was a whimpering and writhing mess.

By the time the other man shows up, Harry's bored of the video but has no intention to stop until he's cum. Clumsily, he shuts his laptop and pushes it away while he rubs the head of his cock gently, collecting a bit of precum. Some invisible ball of energy tenses deep within his stomach, slowly becoming tighter and tighter.

Harry's strokes get faster and faster, and he shuts his eyes tight, needing something, _anything_ , to push him over the edge. He cups his balls and squeezes gently, and he moans loudly, not caring if anyone who happened to be passing by heard him.

Through his thoughts of _fuckfuckfuck I'm so close_ , the static of the intercom breaks through. "Har-Master Styles, dinner is ready, whenever you feel like it," says a voice, high and light and a bit muffled by the static.

As the coil inside him springs free and his vision goes white, he imagines an older boy with deep cerulean blue eyes and golden limbs and caramel colored hair and a light, airy voice whimpering his name and begging Harry to cum for him.

Harry takes a few minutes to calm down, too sensitive to move. When he finally does come around, there's white spots in his vision and sweat running down his cheeks.

Pulling himself off his bed and into the bathroom that branched off his room, Harry gently wiped his stomach and thigh off with a warm washcloth. He wrings it out in the sink and tosses it into the laundry hamper on his way out.

Harry finds his discarded boxers and pulls them, not bothering with his jeans at the moment. He gets back onto his bed and opens his laptop up again, closing the mediocre porn and instead searching up his own name, not quite ready to leave his room yet.

Instead of any news about himself, his father's name popped up - surprise, surprise.

He clicks on a link that redirects him to a live news feed, right outside his house.

 _"I'm outside Robin and Anne Styles' - founders and CEO's of Styles, Inc. - home, where quite the seen is going on."_   The camera leaves the reporter's face and shifts to the scene behind her, where a large crowd is gathered, holding up signs and yelling. They stick a camera in a young man's face, asking for his opinion.

 _"My opinion is that the Styles' are no more than a homophobic, privileged family who can't open their hearts to change, or anything other than other white, straight, rich people."_  
Well, at least Harry had his answer as to why he didn't go shopping. But he wished he didn't.

Try as they might, Harry's parents couldn't hide him from everything - he was well aware of the recent homophobic rant his dad had gone off on, and the support his mother gave it. It made him sick to his stomach.

His entire life, Harry had been subject to molding - no room for his own opinions, or thoughts, or feelings. He'd always been taught that _blacks are criminals, Mexican's are illegal, poor people want to steal all they have, gay's are disgusting._

Of course, Harry knew better - as much as his mother and father wanted him to feel that white, straight, rich people were better than everyone else, he wouldn't have it.  
His parent's were especially weird about the whole gay right's thing. He'd watched as his parent's yelled at two boys who were holding hands in the street, fire employees for being open with themselves, that sort of thing.

That particular thing was drilled into Harry's head again and again, _gayisbadgayisbadgayisbad_ , and it really got to him, to the point where he got with girl after girl, just to appease his father, who seemed to prefer he become some sort of man whore; at least to the alternative.

Harry found himself becoming increasingly guilty each time he jacked off - and not for the whole _that's a sin_ shit. It was the fact that he couldn't get the least bit hard when looking at a pair of tits, but came within minutes of watching another boy.

He knew his parent's were wrong, but that didn't stop Harry from hating himself a little bit more each time it happened.

He didn't really consider himself gay, though, to be honest - he had a girlfriend, who he liked a lot and his parent's liked even more. She was pretty and smart and rich and everything his parent's had made him think he wanted. But every time they fucked, he had to fake it, and he was starting to think that she knew it.

Harry sighs and shuts down his laptop after clearing his history. He felt guilty and tired and angry, and he honestly just wanted a get drunk.

He ignored the butler's second call as he mixed himself a drink.

  
~*~

  
After an hour, Louis gave up on getting Harry to eat dinner, and he went back to his room, where he brewed himself a cup of tea and drank it quickly.

Louis didn't spend much time there, though - he knew that his priority was serving Harry, and he really didn't need to be getting on his bad side.

He walked around, feeling a bit useless, looking for something to do. Normally, Louis wasn't the type of person to go around searching for work, but he had _absolutely nothing_ to do and was dying of boredom.

He eventually made his way into the entrance room and rocked on his heels before pulling out his phone, briefly scrolling through Facebook and Twitter. He noticed an unread text from an unknown number and deleted it. He puts his phone away and stares up at the chandelier.

Louis, from his position in the grand hallway at the base of the stairs, heard something crash from upstairs. Making his way upwards, he found himself wandering aimlessly, searching for any kind of life. He'd of sworn he hadn't imagined it, but...

He's startled by the loud sob that emanates from the door a few steps to his left, and quickly throws it open. He's surprised by the sight in front of him.

It's Harry, standing in a pile of broken glass and a pool of red liquid - which stunk of vodka and something else Louis couldn't quite place - which was currently staining the stark white carpet of Harry's bedroom.

He's not sure quite what to make of it, at first - whether to deal with the bits of shattered glass or the stain or the drunken, crying boy. Whatever the case, he knew he was in for a hell of a talk with Mr. Styles in the morning.

Louis takes Harry by the shoulders and carefully maneuvers around the glass, laying him out on his unmade bed. He quickly begins plucking the glass out of the carpet, though it's hard to see and he pricks himself a few times. By the time he's gotten all of the visible pieces in the garbage bin, his fingers are stained cherry red from either the spilled drink, or the blood, or both. He curses as he ponders what to do about the stain.

He walks into the open bathroom and rummages around for a bit, eventually emerging with a washcloth and some towels. Gently, Louis dabs at the stain, trying not to smudge it in even more. He's gotten the excess liquid out as best he can, but the big ugly red stares him in the face, mocking him.

A few feet away, Harry's humming quite loudly, the tears forgotten. Louis looks over and finds his lips stained the same red hue as the ruined carpet.

Harry catches his eye and giggles, winking at him. Louis flushes and Harry's chittering turns into loud, drunken laughter. The kid was absolutely _plastered_.

"Buuuuutlurrrr," Harry drawls, pushing some hair out of his eyes. "What's yourrrr nammmmmmme?"

"Louis," is his absentminded reply, more focused on gently pressing a towel into the carpet.

"Lewwwwis?"

"Louis. Lou-ie."

'Lou-ieeeeee!" Harry's shrieking with laughter, and it spreads through Louis, a smile cracking on his lips. "Lou-ie, Lou-ie, Lou-ie!"

Louis gives up on the stain, and uses the small rug at the foot of Harry's bed to cover it. He tosses the towels and washcloth into the laundry bin, and gets to work on the younger boy.

"You're pretty," Louis hears Harry practically sing when he's pulling the red-stained socks off his feet.

"Oh, yeah?" Louis hums, unbuttoning Harry's ruined shirt. Along with the socks, Louis tosses it with the other dirty laundry and makes his way to the large closet directly adjacent to the bathroom. 

It takes a bit of searching, but Louis finds the drawer where Harry kept his sleepwear - mostly composed of ratty flannels, sweatpants, and a few silk shirts with the tags still on. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and hollers to Harry, "blue shirt or red shirt?"

"Blueeeeee! Blue Lou, Lou blew Blue!" 

Along with the pants, Louis grabs a blue flannel with the buttons missing and holes galore, and stands in front of the bed. Harry sits up slightly, amusing himself by poking at the matching birds tattooed on his chest. He allows Louis to guide his arms into the sleeves and straighten it out, but he seems to become extremely worn out at that point, flopping back down onto the bed. 

"Can you manage your pants by yourself?" Louis asks him, laying the clothing onto the bed beside the boy. Smiling a bit _too_ sweetly for Louis' liking, Harry shakes his head no.

Sighing to himself, Louis carefully unbutton's Harry's jeans, which were practically painted on, a fact the younger boy couldn't seem to stop giggling about. Slowly but surely, he's able to peel them off and cast them aside. He can't keep from rolling his eyes at the kids' fucking Spiderman boxers. 

Louis grabs the sweatpants and begins getting Harry's left leg into the left leg-hole-thing, when he pulls it away, laughing. With a quick mantra of  _serenity now, serenity now, serenity now_ , he tries again, but Harry's dead set on annoying the shit out of Louis. Grinding his teeth together, he forcefully pulls the sweatpants up Harry's legs, getting stuck at his hips. 

" _Master Styles_ ," Louis begins, voice as even and calm as he can possibly muster, "please just let me get you into these pants, then you can go to bed, okay?"

"I'd rather you be trying to get  _into_ my pants, Lou-ie." 

Louis comes to the realization that he simply is not going to move, so he gives up, leaving the waistband of the pants stuck around Harry's upper thighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose between to fingers, attempting to ward off a stress-induced headache. 

"Lou-ie butler-man, are you trying to _seduce_ me?" Harry bursts into a fit of giggles. Without giving Louis a chance to even flush at the remark, Harry quips, "It's _working_."

Louis looks at Harry, _really_ , for the first time, with flushed cheeks. His hair's sticking to his forehead and his pupils are blown, almost looking electric from the alcohol. His usually pale skin is rosy with color, giving him a cream-and-roses sort of look. His lips are still tinted that fucking _sinful_ red, and he smells of vodka and cherries.

Louis fucking  _loves_ vodka and cherries.

Louis practically has a fucking heart attack when, all of a sudden, Harry's mouth is on his, and it's so abrupt that Louis doesn't really know what the fuck is going on for a bit.

It takes a moment to register, but suddenly he's panicking because, well, he's being kissed by a fucking seventeen-year-old kid who happened to be the fucking son of his rich, powerful, homophobic boss.

But then Louis tastes the sweet cherry and the bitter vodka on the boy's lips, and for a moment he's lost in it, reveling in the sweetness and the softness and the warmth of Harry, and then he's kissing back, gently cupping Harry's cheeks.

Harry pulls Louis on top of him, so he's straddling the younger boy's waist. Harry takes advantage of Louis' compromising position, and roughly grinds into Louis while slipping his tongue into his mouth.

Louis moans involuntarily, and rocks his hips back against Harry, the friction making them both wild and hungry for more. Harry's hands find their way to Louis' ass, squeezing and kneading and God knows what, and all of it goes straight to his cock.

Moving his lips away from Harry's, Louis kisses downwards until he's found his way to Harry's chest, which Louis was surprised to find was littered with dozens of littler tattoos, the same going for his arms. He sucked on the area between the two swallows, only stopping at the younger boy's whimpers. He gently kisses the bruise, before making his way back to Harry's mouth again.

It's only when Harry begins peeling Louis' jacket off of him when he comes to the full realization of what he's doing, and it takes every ounce of will power to pull himself off Harry's cherry-flavored lips. Louis pushes himself off of Harry entirely, falling off the bed and onto his ass.

"Silly Lou-ie, I'm the drunk one, why are you the one falling?" Harry's giggling as he looks down at Louis, hair mussed and the lovebite on his chest staring Louis down. He chokes on the air around him, suddenly finding it hard to breathe with the weight of what he'd just done heavy on his chest.

Louis is on his feet in an instant, eyes wide and wild with panic. With one hard tug, he's got Harry's blanket covering his chest. The young boy's eyes burn into Louis, and he feels about ready to fucking vomit all over the floor.

"Louis?" Harry asks, seeming a lot more sober than he had a few moments ago. He tries with all his might to ignore the growing tent in Harry's blanket. "Where are you going?"

"I-I- go to bed, H-Master Styles. This-This was a mistake. You can't tell anyone that this happened. Do you understand?"

"Why are you leaving me?"

The words shouldn't startle Louis as much as they do, crashing down on him like a building caving in. He's not sure whether it's the softness, the  _innocence_ of Harry's voice, or the wounded expression that covers Harry's face while his eyes burn into Louis', filled with tears and betrayal but still large and baby deer-esque, but it strikes something in Louis' chest, and suddenly he can't breathe. Well - it's not like he was breathing great before; but this was different, like the air in his lungs was replaced with water, and there were bricks weighing down his chest. 

"I-I'm so sorry, go to sleep." Louis has to pretend he doesn't hear Harry whimper his name as he slams the door behind him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After editing things, I've come to enjoy this chapter a lot more. But, of course, I can't catch everything myself - if you see any typos, things that don't quite make sense, etc., I'd appreciate if you'd tell me in the comments, because that'd help me out a lot :D
> 
> Speaking of comments, I haven't even checked them yet. I'm sure I'll get around to it, but I've been a bit nervous - ha. 
> 
> One last thing; don't hesitate to send in some constructive criticism in the comments, because again, that helps me a lot :D (but keep it constructive, please!)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated, but I've run into a few bumps along the way, and they just got in the way of me writing, re-writing, and editing this chapter. I have to say, it's a bit short for my liking - but you win some, you lose some, ya know?
> 
> I won't bore you with the details, but I'll just say that school had just started, and well - French is kinda kicking my ass. Shout out to whatever idiot put me in advanced French.

 

Louis was already wide awake when his alarm clock goes off at 5:00 am; he hadn't slept at all. Couldn't even stay _still_ , for Christs' sake - every time he even thought about laying down or even just sitting, the ache of guilt would claw it's way back into his throat, and he'd wretch into the toilet.

  
When Louis'd finally gotten back to his room, he was quick to shed his clothes and jump into the shower. He bathed several times that night - each time rubbing himself down with the soap to the point of rawness. When he could finally tear himself away, his skin was bright red and stinging, several layers of skin taken right off.

  
He brushed his teeth the point of bleeding gums, ruining his toothbrush, in fact; but try as he might, Louis never could get the lingering sweetness of cherries off his lips.

  
He vomited again.

  
Louis about shits himself when the alarm comes to life, loud and annoying and incessant, to the point where he yanks the cord from the wall jack and hurls it at the wall, shattering it. The beeps go silent.

  
Was he overreacting? Truthfully, yes - Louis was totally losing his mind over the fact that a hormonal, drunk teenage boy came onto him. In all honestly, it shouldn't have caught him off guard as much as it did. He should have just pulled away, tucked Harry in, and left.

  
But he didn't. Instead, he kissed back and enjoyed it, and fucking _grinded_ on the kid.

  
 _Kid._

  
Louis felt his stomach lurch, and he scrambles for the toilet. He falls to his knees and chokes for minutes, but nothing comes up. Even the bitter, bubbling bile has been emptied out. Pressing his face to the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, Louis sighs, but it's shaky and he can feel his fingers tremble at his side.

  
Louis moves a hand around blindly, finally taking purchase on a towel and dabbing the sweat off of his face.

  
Standing, Louis gently turns on the shower - God, he hopes no one will be seeing his water bill - and sets it to a reasonably cool temperature, ditching his boxers and stepping in. The chill feels good on his back, and Louis just stands there for a bit, letting the sticky, uncomfortable hot feeling wash down the shower drain. When the spray goes too cold for his liking, he shuts the water off and steps out, dripping. Grabbing the last dry towel, Louis drys off rather quickly, alternating between rubbing himself down and brushing his tangled hair out.

  
Stepping out of the bathroom with the towel around his hips, he shuffles towards his closet, and inside finds a collection of work uniforms, each one identical.

  
Taking a hesitant glance at the discarded clothes on his floor, Louis makes a silent note to burn every last bit of yesterday's outfit. Shaking his head, he picks a uniform and pulls it out of it's protective plastic suit.

  
Louis pulls it on quickly, then gets to the pressing issue that is his hair - it was still wet and floppy and unstyled, the natural fringe hanging past his eyes. Walking back into the bathroom, Louis retrieves and plugs in his hair dryer.

  
Even after five minutes, it's still damp, but it's manageable, so Louis puts the dryer away and walks into his little kitchen area.

  
His breakfast is simple - two pan-fried eggs and a slice of buttered toast. While he's cooking, Louis silently thanks whoever stocked the cupboards and fridge.

  
He opens up the news on his phone and reads it as he eats, looking for any signs of the protesting clearing up in front of the house. Louis smiles at the fact that it hasn't, and presses the lock button as he places the dirty plate in the sink.

  
He takes a deep breath and grabs his keys before leaving his room, shutting it behind him. He makes his way towards the staircase leading to the main floor slowly, dodging a few scattered workers as they cross paths.

  
Louis looks up and catches the eye of the cute employee from yesterday, and they smile at each other - Louis reminds himself to get his fucking number the next time he sees him.

  
Louis climbs the stairs quickly and makes his way immediately to the kitchen, and is pleased to find the breakfast request stuck to the fridge on a sticky note, along with the required ingredients.

  
It's nothing complicated - open-faced egg sandwiches. Louis scowers the cabinets for the ingredients and sets them out on the table, before getting to work.

  
Louis starts the burner on the stove and places a frying pan over the small flame, placing a bit of butter in the middle and spreading it around until its all melted and the pan is coated in it. He toasts some bread in the extremely fancy toaster - _how the hell can a toaster be_ fancy? - while getting a bowl out and mixing a bit of garlic and mayonnaise together. When the tell-tale ding and pop of the bread comes from behind him, Louis takes a ridiculously gaudy butter knife and spreads the mayo and garlic thinly over the crisp bread. He places two slices of toast on each china plate.

He cracks a few eggs into the frying pan and in only a few minutes Louis' cooked them to perfection; firm, but with runny yolks, and he's carefully placing each one onto a slice of bread. After making sure everything's still warm, he carefully grinds sea salt, black pepper - seriously, what was with all this over the top stuff? - along with a few other spices onto the eggs before placing a silver dome over each plate.

  
Louis quickly sets the table, placing three table mats, napkins, forks, knives, and glasses of water in their designated spots before returning to the kitchen and calling the family to breakfast via the intercom. He checks his phone for the time, 6:30 on the dot.

  
Louis psychs himself up for seeing Harry-Master Styles again, and to stall a bit he jogs into a nearby bathroom and grabs a few Tylenol, slipping them into his front pocket as he quickly returned to the kitchen and began bringing out the breakfast.

  
His breath catches a bit when he sees the boy; the poor thing's got wicked bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot and dull. He's a tad pale, face resting in his hands while his elbows held the kid up. If he notices Louis enter, he doesn't acknowledge it.

  
He's swift and silent as he places each plate in front of a family member, and when he stops beside Master Styles he sets the three Tylenol pills next to the plate.

  
Green eyes looking into Louis' blue ones, and he feels himself stop breathing and his stomach lurch as he awaits a reaction.

  
The boy smiles, fond and grateful.

  
Louis could sing with relief - _the kid didn't remember_. Instead, though, he turns, but he knows the boy sees the slight upwards twitch of his mouth before he disappears into the kitchen. Louis hums as he cleans up, a bit of spring in his step.

  
It only takes about ten minutes for each family member to leave, and Louis gets to work right away, clearing the table, washing the dishes, putting everything back into it's place. Louis is smiling when he leaves the kitchen an hour and a half later.

~*~

  
In the next few days, Louis does, finally, end up getting Nick Grimshaw's, the housekeeper's number. As it turns out, Nick is 30, only a few year's Louis' senior, very single and very funny. He notices that Nick had a habit of making snarky remarks without really caring about the consequences, and that appealed to Louis; he had a bit of the same problem.

  
Louis wasn't sure about Nick's sexuality, though; he knew that if Nick was gay, he wouldn't be stupid enough to be open about it, and he wasn't exactly going to ask.

  
Master Styles kept mostly to himself, only coming down for breakfast and lunch, choosing to eat dinner in his room. He'd given no sign of remembering, and Louis felt his chest get lighter and lighter each time he got smiled at or quietly thanked by him.

  
From relief, of course. Nothing else. At all.

  
Louis was kind of lying to himself - he still felt a bit sick whenever the kid made an appearance. All he saw was stained red swollen lips and electric green eyes and the tent in the blankets and fuck, it was bad.

  
Louis busied himself with work though, always doing something, never sitting still. Whether it was cleaning with Nick or picking cherries with the nice Latina woman in the gardens or just straightening out the bookshelf, Louis tried with all his might to think of anything but him.

  
But at night, when there's no more work to be done and nothing to distract Louis' wandering mind, he lies awake, frantic, until he gives in and jerks off to the thought of the boy on his knees, begging for Louis to cum, until his thought-Harry is rewarded with thin strands of white clinging to his hair, his cheeks, his lips.

  
It's the first Saturday since he started working at the house, and it's just Louis and Master Styles - Mr. and Mrs. Styles had flown to Massachusetts for some pressing issue that could not be resolved over the phone, and would be back on Monday.

  
Louis isn't sure what to prepare for dinner - there was no sticky note on the fridge and he hadn't seen Master Styles all day.

  
He decides on chicken quesadillas - because really, you can't really go wrong with them, they're fucking delicious - and pulls out his ingredients.

  
It's very simple and limited; tortilla bread, grated cheese, and leftover chicken from last night's homemade chicken pot pies - which Louis was unfairly scrutinized for by Mr. Styles, who told him " _there's too many fucking peas_." Please, they were bloody delicious.

  
He lays out two of the tortillas, putting two layers each of chicken and cheese. Louis places a bare piece of bread on top of each coated one. While he's turning on the burner, Louis walks over to the intercom and says, "Master Styles, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes."

  
It takes less time than that to cook Master Styles' quesadilla, and by the time he's topped it with more cheese and placed it in the microwave to melt it, there's no one at the table. Louis stops the microwave but leaves the food in there, in search of the younger boy.

  
Louis checks all around the house - well, excluding one place, but - and comes up empty, so we checks outside. Master Style's not in the gardens, the pool, or even under the little apple tree. Louis walks slowly back towards the house, knowing full well where the kid was - the one place Louis had been avoiding like the plague.

  
When he reaches the kitchen, he finds himself stalling - sprinkling more and more cheese on top of the quesadilla until its just a soggy, cheesy mess - before finally giving up and tossing the whole thing in the garbage.

  
Louis fries up the other quesadilla, the one he'd intended for himself, and manages to put just the right amount of cheese on top. Placing the steaming plate of food onto a silver serving platter and covering it with the lid, Louis grabs a bottle of water and carries both things up the stairs.

  
Setting the water in a bit of an awkward position between his side and his elbow, Louis knocks on Master Styles' bedroom door, waits a polite ten seconds (and about thirty more) and walks in.

  
Miraculously, he doesn't fall to the ground, dead, where he stands. But his knees are shaking just a bit and everything in the room reminds him of what happened - the kid laying on his back on the bed, the blue flannel laying in the laundry basket, the little rug with just the slightest hint of pink breaking through-

  
"Your dinner, Master Styles," Louis says as loud as he can without stuttering, looking at his shoes.

  
The plate leaves his hands, and Louis sets the water down on the end table. "What is it?"

  
Louis can't help but roll his eyes; _open the lid, dumbass_ ; but he puts on his nicest smile and lifts the silver dome for him, saying, "Chicken quesadillas. I hope they're to your taste."

  
"Ooh, one of my favorites." Grabbing a slice and taking a bite, Master Styles says, "these are delicious. Thank you, Louis."

  
Louis tries to ignore the use of his name, biting his lip to hide a wince. "You're very welcome. Do you need anything else?" _Please say no, please say no, please say n-_

  
"Yes, actually. If you don't mind, would you get me a drink?" Louis casts his eyes desperately to the unopened water but nods anyway.

  
"Cherries and vodka, please." His smile is dazzling as he takes another bite of his dinner. "And just bring me the cherries."

  
Louis feels his ribs suddenly get heavier in his chest and his stomach twist in the way it does when you're thinking _fuckfuckfuckimsocaughtfuckfuckfuck_ , but he nods, matching the boy's smile and tripping out the door, the water in hand.

  
Louis helps himself to it, drinking over half of it - he didn't care. The kid remembered, _fuck_ , he _remembered,_ and Louis felt his chest constricting itself, too tight around his lungs, squeezing the air, and the calm, out of him, leaving only suffocation and panic.

He almost stumbles down the stairs, but he does make it, and wanders into the kitchen, looking around for a jar.

  
It takes some serious digging, but Louis eventually finds at least fifteen jars of red liquid and cherries, all in different states of sitting. Grabbing a dark red jar and a glass, Louis takes back to the stairs slowly, psyching himself up.

  
He needed to calm down. There was no real proof that the kid remembered. Louis was being dumb anyway. The kid probably just enjoyed the bittersweet taste of the drink, anyway - it had nothing to do with the Incident.

  
Louis walks back into the bedroom, gently unscrewing the cap on the jar and pouring some of its contents into the glass. A few cherries splash in, but before he can get them out, Master Styles is taking the drink from Louis hands. He bites his lip at the brief touch of their hands.

  
Master Styles takes a long sip, and Louis can't help but notice the extremely distracting way the kid eats and drinks - first poking out his tongue, then taking a sip, or a bite. He tries not to stare, but knows he fails more than once.

  
"So, Louis," Master Styles says, pulling a cherry out of his drink and looking at it, as if he was a scientist and the cherry was his test subject. "How have you liked working here so far? Been almost a week, hmm?"

  
He pops the cherry into his mouth, holding it between his slightly red lips for a few moments before pulling it in all the way chewing it.

  
"A week on Wednesday, yeah," Louis replies, eyes anywhere but Master Styles, who was licking his fingers clean of red liquid. He tastes blood on his tongue from biting his lip so much, and focuses on that instead.

He doesn't seem to notice that Louis didn't answer his first question, and plows on. "What's your favorite thing to do here?"

  
"I like helping in the gardens," Louis replies, and briefly wonders if the cherries in the drink had been in Louis' hands at one point. He tries to ignore the thought.

  
"I used to help in the gardens, when I was younger," is Master Styles' reply in between sips of his drink. "Not as many employees back then."

  
Humming in response, Louis refills the kid's glass before he can be asked. He's given a white, straight smile in return.

  
"Do you know if the protests outside have cleared up yet?" he asks Louis after a few minutes, chewing on a cherry.

  
Louis blanks; he didn't think Master Styles was supposed to know about that. "...What protests?"

  
He feels eyes burning into his face. "The LGBT rights activists. They've been camped out there for days. Y'know when they'll be gone?"

  
Louis shakes his head. "No, I don't. Why, did you need anything?"

  
The boy shrugs. "Haven't seen any friends in a while. I know they'll be here for the dinner party, but I wanted to see them beforehand. My girlfriend, too."

  
Louis rolls his eyes at the word girlfriend, but feels his fingers dig into the bed anyways. "You have a girlfriend? What's she like?"

  
"Pretty. Black hair. Blue eyes. Um. Skinny. Nice."

  
Louis chuckles. "Sounds..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence without it sounding too creepy or too forced. "Nice."

  
"Do you have a girlfriend?"

  
"No," Louis answers immediately, but tacks on at the end, "not currently."

  
Louis didn't know how to respond, initially - he'd never been closeted before. By 16 he'd known he wasn't attracted to girls and he was never quiet about it. He'd been accepted with open arms and started a whole chain of coming out of the closet in his town. He'd never had to hide it quite like this. It felt wrong and stirred up a feeling like guilt in his gut.

  
Louis feels more awkward than he had before. "So, I'll, um, tell you if it stops out there, yeah?" He stands and dusts off his coat.

  
The kid smiles at him, fond and sweet. It squeezes at Louis' heart. "Thank you for dinner, Louis."

  
Taking the serving platter and covering the empty plate with the silver dome, Louis replies, "it's no problem, Master Styles." As an afterthought, he adds, nodding to the drink, "not too much, okay? Hangovers are shit."

  
Louis isn't sure whether he should swear in front of him, but the kid just chuckles in response. "Yes, mother dear."

  
Flushing, Louis turns to leave, but he's stopped with a large hand on his shoulder. He squeaks involuntarily.

  
"Oh, and Lou?" He bites his lip at the nickname. "Call me Harry, yeah?"

  
Louis can only nod before leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Of course, I'll probably go back and edit a bit later, because I'm a bit lazy. As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism really helps me a lot :)


End file.
